


Forbidden Salvation

by Annehiggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:56:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annehiggins/pseuds/Annehiggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John falls in love with his eldest son. It changes everything. More of a PWP, stream-of-consciousness piece than anything else. Warning: While this has NO underaged sex in it, the incest isn't soft-pedaled at all, so if you like your John/Dean on the fluffier side, this isn't for you. John is NOT a dark character in this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forbidden Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to Live Journal Jan. 5, 2012 with the following note: I love the visual of this pairing but it's so rife with potential abuse I find it problematic and have never known how to approach it. But I suddenly got an idea. 
> 
> While vague here and mostly implied since none of the participants ever know about it, this spins around the idea that instead of giving John and Mary a nudge in the right direction, the cupid assigned to the case forced them to fall in love when they would not have. Here, finding real love versus a compelled one heals all.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/anne_higgins/pic/0000f8z8/)

**Forbidden Salvation**  
By Anne Higgins

John Winchester knew what people would say if they found out. That he was a monster and a child molester. They'd say it had happened when he was drunk and violence had turned into an even uglier abuse. And they'd all assume it had happened because his beautiful boy looked like Mary. None of it was true. Not even the part about his dead wife.

He had to admit that final part seemed on the shakiest ground. Their eldest son did take after Mary, but she'd also attracted John in the first place because he had a type – light hair, green eyes, beautiful body, and a brave spirit. Dean was all those things, plus male. John had never known why a lifetime of preferring men to women had changed when he met Mary Campbell – Hell, they'd flat out hated each other at first – but it had and they'd been happy for the most part until she'd been killed by some … thing.

He missed her, mourned her and knew he always would, but if he could somehow see and talk to her again, he'd have punched her for what she'd done. He often missed the ignorance of those early years when his mind could paint her memory as perfect. But after she'd died, he'd tried to track down the remnants of her family to tell them what had happened. Took him ten years to stumble on another hunter who had turned out to be a cousin and that was when he'd learned Mary, her parents, and practically everyone else in the whole fucking Campbell family tree had been hunters. She'd _known_ what was out there and what precautions to take, yet had never laid down a single salt line. Not even in the boys' rooms. He would never forgive her for that. Wanted to hate her for all the lies of omission and the stupidity in panting after the same 'normal life' their youngest always whined about. 'Normal' meant unprepared and had gotten Mary killed, would get Sam killed and had set John on an obsessive quest for vengeance he didn't begin to understand.

He knew others whispered the loss of the love of his life had unhinged him, but 'the love of his life?' Half the time he thought he might still hate her as much as he had in the beginning. So no, John never looked at Dean and saw his mother. Dean might have her eyes, but the secrets he kept were to keep others safe – not to create some illusionary life. Otherwise the boy tended to wear his heart on his sleeve. So he knew when hero-worship turned into a crush. It surprised him since Dean had a great love of making out with girls in supply closets and under stadium bleachers – John had received far too many calls from irate principals to have any doubts on that point. But Dean would come back to whatever hotel room or cheap apartment they were calling home with his lips kiss-swollen and smelling of perfume only to give John shy, loving looks.

He'd expected Dean to grow out of it or to at least add other boys to his list of potential make-out partners. But it had never happened. Finally a few weeks after Dean's seventeenth birthday, John had asked the son every instinct he possessed said was gay if he was afraid John would think less of him if he wasn't perfectly straight.

Dean had blushed and dropped his gaze to the floor. "No, sir," he'd answered, "it's just better this way."

"How?"

He'd expected something about vulnerability with male partners, but that hadn't been it. "Girls know I won't push for more, but guys would expect me to put out." He'd looked up then, meeting his father's eyes. "I'm saving that for someone special." Neither of them pretended he was talking about his wedding night. Didn't talk about it again either because John had been wrong. It wasn't a crush. Dean was in love with him.

*

Not talking was one thing, but there was no way John could avoid thinking about it. For a time he wallowed in guilt. It was his fault. By dragging his boys from place to place he'd prevented them from forming deep attachments with anyone their own ages. Looking back on it, he thought the longest he might have stayed anywhere might have been two months. But it had been so hard, especially in the earlier years when he was still learning who he could and could not trust, to leave them with anyone. Those damned choices had left Dean with a lot of love in his heart and nothing but a gaggle of broken-down hunters to give it to – including his own father.

Was John the worst choice or the best? Some of the men they knew had little more charm than serial killers. Good hunters who could be trusted to watch his back, but no one he wanted his beautiful son taking a deeper interest in. And God, Dean was so beautiful. He had eyes after all, but it wasn't until after that awkward talk that he really started _seeing_ Dean. Started thinking about thoughts that led to other thoughts a father should never have for his son.

He never made a conscious decision. That much he knew. But Dean had been too distracted to earn enough credits to graduate at the end of what should have been his senior year of high school. Not surprising. The real wonder was that Sam managed to keep earning his grades, but it didn't stop the little shit from giving Dean one disgusted look after another. Finally Dean had snapped, stalked into a testing center and taken the GED without ever signing up for a study class. He'd slammed the results down on the table in front of Sam – five points off from a perfect score. It was something of an 'in your face' reminder that Dean's IQ was higher than his little brother's, and he was a Hell of a lot smarter in practical matters.

Deciding his boys needed a break from one another he dropped Sam off at Pastor Jim's and took Dean along on a series of vengeful-spirit hunts. They made up the majority of what a hunter dealt with and they could be fairly straight forward. Also dangerous as fuck. Since Dean was getting old enough to work solo, John decided the trip would give him a chance to really see what the boy could do. And if he could ever risk letting Dean hunt alone.

*

They stopped in Idaho after putting some prudent distance between themselves and a grave full of smoking bones. Hotel they checked into wasn't bad for the price. No disgusting stains or smells and it was near a bar the owner promised had decent burgers. They washed the graveyard off with a couple of fast showers, then headed on over. Burgers were good, beer not so much. Neither of them bothered to order a second one.

They headed back to the hotel room, cleaned the weapons together, then he sat down to research their next hunt while Dean checked in with Sammy. The time apart had done both boys a world of good and the kid soon had Dean laughing over whatever tale he was spinning. John looked up at the sound and his breath caught in his throat. Never seen anything so devastatingly beautiful as Dean stretched out on the bed, his head thrown back as he laughed.

John couldn't move. Felt like he finally knew what a deer caught by a pair of headlights went through, and the absolute stillness immediately drew his son's attention. Dean's eyes widened for a moment, then a radiant smile split is face. "Hey, squirt, I need to get going. Call you tomorrow night? Yeah, yeah, 'same bat-time, same bat-channel.' Later, bitch."

Dean hung up the phone and slowly stood up. Not like someone trying not to spook a frightened animal – boy was smart enough to know that would piss John off and snap him out of it – but with a sensuous glide that promised Heaven was within John's grasp. Already barefoot, he slipped out of his t-shirt, then his jeans and boxers. For a moment he simply stood there, letting John take in his strong, lean body and his hard cock.

Always the bravest member of family, Dean didn't shy away from what was about to happen. Instead he whispered, "Daddy, I want you."

The paralysis snapped. John stood and pulled his naked son into his arms. Dean's skin felt like silk beneath his hands, while the muscle of his lean body felt strong and powerful, reminding him his boy was a grown man. "God, Dean," he whispered, trying to find the strength to stop this, but Dean pressed closer, his sinfully-full lips finding John's to muffle any further protests with a kiss.

The taste and heat of him banished the last of John's ability to think and his hands shifted down to cup his son's gorgeous ass. Found himself lifting as well as squeezing and long legs wrapped around his waist, pressing Dean's naked arousal to the erection trapped inside John's jeans. The need to feel all of the lovely body pressed beneath him compelled him to move the few steps back to the bed and lower them both down onto it.

"Daddy," Dean moaned, clutching at him as if he were afraid John would abandon him.

"Shhh, not going anywhere," he promised, then recaptured kiss-swollen lips as he settled over Dean. Seen them like that so often, but he'd never imagined what it would feel like to make them swell, to know how damned good they tasted. Could have kissed him for hours, but his boy began whimpering, his hips shifting to rub against John's jeans. He drew back enough to ask, "Tell me what you want, baby boy." The love name slipped from his tongue without conscious thought. Sounded so dirty and wrong, but somehow perfect.

Like Dean all naked and wanting whispering, "In me, Daddy. Need you in me."

So no half-measures, no half-assed denials about friction not counting. A bottle of lotion sat on the nightstand as it had every night of their 'road trip.' Understood what it meant now. Was his boy's way of giving him a hint about what he'd wanted all along. John reached for it.

He wasn't ashamed to admit his hand shook as he poured the lotion onto his fingers, then he began to slick up and loosen the entrance to Dean's body. No, no hiding in even language, he was pushing his fingers into his son's ass. The same ass he'd once diapered. His mind skittered through the past looking for some sign he'd lusted after his beautiful little boy, but no. He'd never wanted boys before Mary. Only men. Even now Dean was almost too young, too lean, too pretty for him, but he was Dean. His Dean. His baby boy who he loved with all his heart and the soul he'd sell to keep him safe. Should have repelled him. Instead it made him keep going – one finger, two, three.

Dean twisted down, acting desperate for more. "Please, Daddy, now."

"I'm big, baby boy," he answered, his tone firm. "Need to take my time or I'll hurt you."

"Don't care."

"I do," he said simply, then he leaned over to recapture plump lips to help distract the boy while his fingers kept working his hole. Been all of his boy's life and longer since he'd last done this, last prepared a male lover for the length between his legs, but sense memory guided him, and finally he felt the muscle give enough for him to think Dean was ready.

His son was hanging on too tight for him to even consider getting up and stripping, so he fumbled with his zipper until he got his cock free. "All right, baby boy, breath in, then let it out slow," he ordered, settling into position.

Dean obeyed and at the perfect moment, John began the slow slide inside his son's virgin ass. So hot and tight, better than he ever remembered it being, but then, he'd never made love to another man. Only this one. Virgin himself in that way.

Mindful of every sound Dean made, every twitch on his pretty face, John took the same care with his entry as he had with the prep. Seemed to take forever when all his body wanted to do was thrust, but finally his balls pressed against the opening. "All the way in, baby boy. How's it feel?"

"Good, Daddy," Dean moaned. "So good."

Reassured, John began to move his hips in a slow, shallow thrusting to get Dean used to the sensation. But his boy was inexperienced, not fragile and soon Dean began begging for him to move faster, take him harder. His turn to obey, to give in to what they both wanted.

Dean urged him on, his pleas loud, his enthusiastic cries even louder until the force of their fucking made the bed slam against the wall. With a shout, Dean came, splattering his release over John's t-shirt. The sound and the feel of muscle contracting around his cock sent John tumbling over the edge a moment later.

He managed to collapse to the side so he didn't crush Dean when the force of his orgasm robbed his muscles of all strength, and they lay there for several minutes limbs intertwined, their bodies sticky, sweaty messes. Finally the discomfort of that making his clothes stick to him gave John the will to get up.

Dean whimpered as he moved out of his arms and reached for him. "Daddy?"

"It's all right, baby boy," he answered, cupping the side of Dean's face. "Just gonna shed a few layers and get something to clean us up."

The words seemed to calm him, but those big green eyes of his tracked every movement John made until he returned to the bed with a warm wash cloth. He stroked it over Dean's belly, then wiped away the lotion and seed clinging to his thighs. "Why don't you hop in the other bed while I get rid of this," he said when he finished. "No need for either of us to sleep in the wet spot when we have a spare."

Dean gave him a sleepy smile and when John returned from the bathroom, he was resting in the second bed. But again he was watching intently. John smiled and crawled into bed with him, drawing him into his arms so Dean's head rested on John's shoulder instead of the pillow. John remembered thinking this was paradise, then sleep claimed him.

*

When John woke the next morning it took him a moment to realize Dean was already awake and holding on tight. John shifted, pulling Dean up and over to straddle his thighs. For a long moment they stared at each other in the dim light of an early morning sun peeking through the curtains.

Deciding since Dean had made the first move last night, John's doing so now might reassure him more than anything else, he snagged the lotion bottle again. His boy's face lit up and he looked happy as he squirmed on John's probing fingers. Once he was satisfied he had Dean ready, he said, "Okay, baby boy, time to ride Daddy's cock."

That made Dean grin. John helped him shift, then take his father's morning wood into his body. Went at it even harder than they had last night, Dean raising and lowering himself down the shaft impaling him while the bed shuddered from the impacts. If they'd been in a cheaper hotel, John might have started worrying the thing would collapse beneath him, but soon the beautiful body above him made it impossible to think.

*

They spent the better part of the next two days in bed, only leaving the room for food runs. On the third day they decided to get back to work and quickly found a hunt an hour to the north. Poltergeist. It put to rest any vague worries John had about the change in their relationship. If anything they worked even better. It was as if they'd been slightly out of tune, but now were in perfect sync. Probably exactly that. Took a lot of energy, even if it was mostly unconscious, to resist an attraction to someone. No need for that any more.

Dean never acted differently around him, still called him 'Dad' when they were with anyone who know them. Since the kid liked PDAs when they could get away with it, he became John – and damn it was weird to hear his name come out of his son's mouth that first time – around strangers. But in bed Dean continued to call him 'Daddy.' Fine with John. Was a sick enough puppy that hearing that moaned while he was balls deep in the boy turned him on like nothing else.

Inevitably things changed. He stopped thinking of Dean as his son and more as his partner. Hell, if anything about this situation were legal, he'd. … Oh. He looked up from cleaning the weapons to where Dean sat at the small table going over newspapers for a lead on a new hunt. "Dean."

"Yeah, Dad?"

"I'd marry you if I could." Dean didn't let him out of bed until breakfast the next day. After that, outside of sex talk, Dean called him John even when they were alone.

*

With the end of their summer road-trip looming, John came to a decision. If Dean was his partner, then he needed to treat him like one. He still simmered with anger at Mary for all the secrets she'd kept from them, and he didn't want Dean to end up someday feeling the same way about him. "Sweetheart, you awake?" he asked.

They were driving back toward Blue Earth and Pastor Jim's. Well he was driving. Dean was curled up against him like always. Used to pretend he drifted across the bench seat in his sleep, but since the whole 'marry you if I could' thing, he'd openly claimed the spot next to John as his proper seat and John could just get over it. He didn't mind at all, but it did sometimes make it difficult to tell if his son was asleep or just enjoying a quiet cuddle.

"Nope."

"There's something we need to talk about."

"Like what?" he asked shifting around to lean his back against the passenger door so he could watch John. Sure sign the boy was worried John was going to give him some 'it's been nice, but' bullshit brush-off. Although he didn't look nearly as panicked as he once had. Progress. And in a weird, but painful way, this little talk would likely reassure him enough the wary-eyed stare would stop, too. If Dean ever spoke to him again. Could go that way, too.

"Hunter things," he said, putting an end to any 'it's me, not you' fears. "Things I always thought my sons needed to be protected from, but my partner has a right to know."

Curiosity replaced wariness. "Okay."

John sighed. It wasn't like he had all the answers, and that was as much a part of his reason for silence as his instinct to protect his boys from the truth. Why make them suffer the same anguish over missing information as he did? But, no, he couldn't back out now. He started with, "Your mom was a hunter." He finished with what he knew about Sammy's destined fate. Not much, but all of it terrifying.

By the time he'd told the last of his secrets, John was hoarse; Dean, pale and tight-lipped. Boy practically bolted out of the car when John parked in a motel lot. But Dean didn't go far. Instead he started pacing back and forth the length of the Impala while John got them a room. Deciding Dean needed his space, he got their gear out of the car and headed for their room.

Was a good half-hour later before a knock on the door pulled him out of his worries that Dean was still too young and he should have kept his damned mouth shut. Letting the boy in didn't soothe those worries as Dean flung himself into John's arms and started crying softly against his shoulder. John knew how he felt. When he thought too hard about all of it, he normally reached for a bottle of the hard stuff, but Dean's tears freed his own and he let himself cry for the first time in years.

Hours later after they were both cried out and Dean had gotten his head wrapped around the horrible vagueness of it all, Dean said, "You have to stop fighting with Sammy."

John frowned. "It's not like I enjoy it, but sometimes part of being a parent –"

"No, that's not what I mean." He sighed. "Look, I love the kid more than anything, but he's so freaking angry. Half the time you two butt heads when neither of you remembers what set things off in the first place."

Much as he hated it, he couldn't really deny that. Even in the best of worlds – which John knew all too well this wasn't – Sam was too much like him, right down to the Winchester-stubborn streak. John had loved his father, but they'd fought all the time, too, for the same reason. "What do you suggest?"

Dean gave him a smile so full of blinding gratitude it made John feel like a jerk. Had he really been so blinded by his fears that he'd forgotten Dean generally knew best when it came to his little brother? "He needs a stable home, John. Needs to get up in the morning and go to the same school, hang out with the same kids. There's a prep school near Pastor Jim's that was built on holy ground. Should keep him as safe as hauling him around from place to place while he fights us both every step of the way."

They talked until they fell asleep in each other's arms, then hashed out more of the details on the rest of the drive back to Minnesota. Sam could go to the same high school all four years like he'd always dreamed, but he had to stay in training and take some basic precautions. Kid didn't like that part, was bound and determined to live like some fool who believed demons didn't exist in the real world.

Instead of arguing with him, Dean insisted Sam introduce him to the friends he'd made over the summer. Each time he said, "Hi, I'm Sam's big brother, Dean Christos." Two of the kids' and his soccer coach's eyes went black. Demons. A fast exorcism saved the coach and one of the kids, but the other's body was too weakened and he didn't make it.

Shook Sammy up enough he _listened_ when Dean started yelling about the world not being a freaking safe place and Sam needed to get his head out of his ass to keep anyone else from dying. By the time school started, Dean had Sam and most of the kid's remaining friends using 'Christos' as their go-to swear word. By Halloween a demon didn't last ten minutes in Blue Earth before someone dropped the C-word and Sam or Jim exorcised it's ass back to Hell.

Not John. He had always done the best he could for the boys, but years ago he'd chosen trying to track down the demon over being a good father. Half the time even he'd believed it was for revenge, but no, Mary had made her own choices and his had to be about making certain their son didn't spend the rest of his life paying for them. And Dean? In the end he made the same decision John had – the only real way to keep Sammy safe was to find and kill the demon. So he hugged his little brother good-bye, called him every night and made certain they swung by Blue Earth at least once every six weeks, but he stayed with John.

*

"And you believed him? Are you freaking kidding me?" Looking caught between anger and disbelief, Dean glared at him like John had just told him that not only was Santa Claus real, but they had to kill him.

"What?" They'd been swapping 'while you were away' stories over Chinese take-out in Michigan, and John had started talking about his time with Daniel Elkins. Never'd said a word about his old mentor to anyone else before, but now he had a partner, and partners shared. Dean's explosion had followed the part about the gun made by Samuel Colt. A gun said to be able to kill anything, but Daniel had never found it. "Of course-"

"John, this guy _said_ he was always looking for it. Did you ever actually _see_ him do anything?" One sentence to change their world, because no, he hadn't. Two weeks later they stole the damned thing from Daniel's safe.

*

Five weeks before Sam's sixteenth birthday, Dean used the Colt to shoot Azazel right between the eyes. By Sam's eighteenth they'd used it twice more to kill the demon's own children. Those deaths ended even the faintest hint of a rumor that anything but the most minor of demons walked the Earth. It was over.

Dean snorted at that pronouncement. "It'll never be over, John. There's always going to be another evil thing that needs killing. And it's our job to do it."

John thought of Mary and everything that had happened after she'd decided it was over for her. He nodded, "I guess it is."

*

With Dean at his side, John sat in the auditorium of Brebuff Preparatory School and watched his son graduate valedictorian of his class. Kid had a letter of acceptance and a full-ride scholarship to Stanford, too.

John had dreamed a lot about this moment when his children had been born, but had come to believe he'd never see it. Hell, he hadn't even wanted to because college meant his boys out of his sight and no way for him to keep them safe. But here he was, a proud father with tears in his eyes as he listened to Sam's speech thanking his father, Pastor Jim, his teachers but most of all his big brother, Dean, who had taught him nothing was impossible. So proud of both of them. Couldn't stop himself from reaching over to give Dean's hand a squeeze and whispering into his ear, "You did good, son."

Not a doubt in his mind his beautiful baby boy would have helped Sammy make this day happen no matter how much interference John had caused, and it shamed him to think what his reaction to Sam's Stanford news might have been. No, he'd not had much to do with this day. All Sam's doing. And Dean's. His Dean.

So, yes, John knew what people would say if they found out about his relationship with Dean. They'd call them sinners, say what they had was filthy and evil and had damned them both to Hell. Maybe it had. But he knew one thing for certain – Dean had saved him. He'd saved them all.

end


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